


Unspoken

by TururaJ



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5944339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TururaJ/pseuds/TururaJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like Kaizuka is sheltering him from the ever-present wind, from the raging world, even from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Невысказанное](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/174700) by TururaJ. 



> All right, this is a translation of my own work, so whoever wanders here from the russian fandom you can read it in the original form. This was inspired by the official art and Inaho's birthday, though this short drabble is once again about making Slaine happy. Please, blame all mistakes, if any, on my modest english and my love for Inasure. =3

It never snows in this part of the world. During winter cool winds are blowing, fall and spring bring with themselves lots of stubborn rains, knocking on the roof of their home. Slaine is used to waking up to the sound of the waves rolling on the beach and catching the rays of light, slipping between the peacefully swaying curtains, with his fingers. Warm sun very often meets him in the mornings, pulls out of his mouth a sleepy contented sigh. He stretches on the bed, pushes away the thin blanket, buries his head in a crumpled pillow, feeling how the tips of his hair tickle his cheeks. The corners of his lips almost morph into a smile. Almost - but no.

Slaine rolls on his side and searches for yesterday's clothes on the floor, nearly gets entangled in a pale-blue tunic - his father's locket clings violently to the fabric, demanding immediate attention to itself. Slaine pulls the slipping pants on his hips and slides his fingers thoughtfully above the locket patterns. Even seven years later after the end of the war and after three years of granted parole his thoughts are still wandering somewhere in the distant and bitter past.

Snorting, Slaine goes barefoot into the kitchen. A hot cup of tea is waiting for him on the table in the company of unpretentious toasts. Slaine absent-mindedly buries his hand in his tousled after sleep hair, looks around pristine-clean gas-stove, inspects the refrigerator, but still doesn’t find the usual portion of omelet or scrambled eggs. He sits down on the stool, pulls tea towards himself, and stares at the window-sill, occupied by the familiar blue jacket since the previous night.

After finishing his breakfast Slaine moves into the living room. A stack of new books is neatly folded on the coffee table. Slaine settles down on a leather couch, slowly flips through intriguing annotations, but soon catches himself listening surreptitiously to the sound of the sea and wondering when the other’s steps are going to tear the captivating melody of water. However, only the ticking of the wall clock and the rustle of book pages is weaving into the surrounding silence. Irritated, Slaine turns to send a death-glare to the clock - he has been dreaming to get rid of it for three months already, but each time the request dies with unspoken words on his lips. Slaine doesn’t like to ask for anything.

The darkness of the hall does not hinder Slaine’s determination to slip his bare feet into the comfortable sandals. The bright sun, surfacing from behind the army of the clouds travelling across the sky, is blinding. Slaine pauses under the shade of trees and palms, surrounding the house, and breathes in the fresh air. The sand which comes from the beach is dancing under his feet on the stone-paved path. The wind immediately sneaks under his clothes and shamelessly begins to play with his hair after he moves away from home.

Slaine almost stumbles when finally the figure of the home’s owner comes into sight. Black trousers, beige t-shirt, and the shirt of the sunflower color - perhaps, this is the first time in Slaine’s memory when he sees Kaizuka without his favorite military uniform. Something strange is pulling at his heart, forcing Slaine to touch the locket, remove it from his neck and squeeze the chain, shining brilliantly under the rays of sun, in his hand. 

Slaine knows that there is a calm, cool mask on his face, but a vague nervousness begins to choke him deep inside his chest. Is he really so used to this quiet, simple, salutary life away from the past and the rest of the world to such an extent that the slightest deviation from the routine can bring him into such a sorry state? Slaine runs his tongue over his dry lips and moves on. The path of a coward was never his choice.

Kaizuka is silently gazing into the distance - over the infinite horizon of the sea stretching to nowhere. Slaine freezes over his shoulder like a ghost of the past, like a pale shadow, like the weight of an unnecessary burden, a relic of a terrible war. But the annoyance over his own thoughts breaks too quickly against Kaizuka’s straight back. Silence in Inaho’s company is truly a strange thing. Whenever Kaizuka decides to stay silent, Slaine feels guilt, then anger at himself, echoes of fear and after that a horrible fatigue. But it all somehow goes away when Inaho just smiles at him, and Slaine realizes that once again he is simply swallowed by a mire of silly, frivolous thoughts.

Unlike him, Kaizuka Inaho never dwells on the past. It sure is easy for him, like right now, to turn around, reach out and... what? Surprised, Slaine takes a couple of steps back, but Inaho doesn’t let go of his hand and pulls him back. The warmth of his fingers is leaving goosebumps on Slaine’s skin. For a moment he thinks that Kaizuka is going to wrest the locket from his grasp, but no.

Slaine's cheeks are burning with fire, when suddenly and for no apparent reason Inaho pulls him into embrace and buries his nose into his neck. Trying to push Kaizuka, obviously gone off his rocker, away, Slaine clearly understands the difference in their strengths. Though Slaine doesn’t look like a fading vegetable anymore, his body is still not fully rid of weakness from the years spent in prison and scars from the war. However hard Slaine tries to sink his nails into the stubborn shoulders Inaho does not break the embrace even for a moment.

Slaine gives up, throws back his head - toward the blue sky and the snowy clouds. Inaho’s hands are carefully sliding down his back. It feels like Kaizuka is sheltering him from the ever-present wind, from the raging world, even from himself. His agitated heart rhythm is slowly calming. Above the wash Slaine vaguely catches only the end of the phrase.

“...I sent in my resignation.”

“Why?” he responds, not really caring, drowning in the emptiness of the sky.

“Be with me.” Kaizuka Inaho is still the same way unpredictable and straightforward, just like in the years of war, just like during the past few years of peace. _“Bat”, “You are my enemy”, “I will serve as your shield during the fall”, “You are going to live”, “I’ll get you out of here”, “Does a cottage on the seashore sound nice?”, “Kitchen is my territory.”_

“I...” am still in love with her, Slaine wants to say. He wants, but the words won’t come out, stuck in his throat. The chain of the locket sinks into his fingers, burns him with a flame of cursed memories, seething with a forbidden name on his lips. Slaine grits his teeth and closes his eyes tight - so tight that the colorful circles are dancing behind his eyelids.

“You still have trouble falling asleep. And if I am away for more than one day, your lips tremble when we meet, Slaine.” Slaine feels like all the firmness of the earth is gathered in Inaho’s voice. “I’ve just made a decision to never leave you anymore.”

His fingers clench into hard fists by themselves. Slaine struggles against Kaizuka’s shoulders, pulls at his strands of hair, wishing to break the painful embrace, to hurt him, to wipe away that arrogant confidence from the other’s face. But Inaho suddenly buries his hand into his hair and drinks his protest with his lips. Slaine jerks like a bird caught in a clap-net, but at some point something important suddenly snaps inside his chest, and instead of trying to break free, he is pressing his lips to Kaizuka’s mouth. Clumsy and awkward, feeling the taste of his own tears, his fingers cling to the soft fabric of the sunny shirt.

There are only the calming sounds of sea in his ears. The desperate kiss ends, but for a long time Slaine, finally allowing himself to forget about everything, touches his lips to Inaho’s, absorbing the yet unexperienced, but wonderful warmth. And then he presses his forehead wearily against Kaizuka’s shoulder and freezes, allowing Inaho to give him support.

“Slaine?”

“I... I want you to throw away that stupid, ticking clock in the living room.” The words come out in a hoarse whisper, and Slaine, hugging Kaizuka’s shoulders in return, is suddenly very afraid that he doesn’t have any other words for Inaho. He feels that he is empty and broken, useless and discarded, tainted and stigmatized. The lines of his hideous scars burn his skin, gathering into an accursed web of ugliness.

“Let's throw it away together.” Inaho’s hand reaches under the edge of his tunic and caresses the bare skin of his back. His touch is slow and full of yet unspoken tenderness. Slaine feels how the fever of his doubts recedes, allowing him to breathe freely.

His gaze falls over Inaho’s shoulder to his own hand, still clutching the locket. His heart is beating in protest, rubbing against his chest, but Slaine closes his eyes, lets his cheek rest on Kaizuka’s shoulder. Awfully slowly he opens his fingers, feeling how the chain of locket kisses his wrist for the last time.

The sounds of the sea absorb the displeased clanging. Somewhere in the distance the cries of seagulls fly over the rustling waves.

Slaine listens to Inaho’s breathing and thinks that maybe, someday, the storm in his soul will come to an end.


End file.
